Three Small Words
by Thaddeus MacChuzzlewit
Summary: For all that he can slap on accents and switch between languages at will, Newkirk is a lousy communicator. It would help if he even understood what he was trying to say, but he doesn't. Not really.


_Over the course of the show Newkirk says some pretty nasty things to his friends. While it's usually in the context of friendly teasing, compared to the others, his insults are harsh and maybe a bit too freely given. I don't think Newkirk has any idea what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like._

* * *

 **Three Small Words**

* * *

"I love you." His father stops in the doorway, leaning back to catch his mother as she passes. He kisses her on the cheek and smiles. "I love you, _fy nghariad_ _."_

She blushes and for a moment the hollows under her eyes are overshadowed by life.

 _I love you, my darling._

Peter trails after his father, stands balancing on the edge of the top stairs, watching him circle down, down, down, out of the building, taking the week's grocery money with him.

His father won't be back tonight. Peter will drink water from the pump in the courtyard outside until he throws up, but it won't fill his empty stomach.

8 8 8

"Don't be like that, Joanna," Mary says sweetly, smothering her friend with a hug. "Don't pout. _I love you._ You're my best friend!"

Peter watches, wide-eyed, as the two girls sit on the curb in front of his tenement, uncomfortably close together, sharing Joanna's pastry. They giggle, nudging each other, all smiles, sticky hands and terms of endearment.

It's a friendship of convenience. He knows they only play together because Mrs. Tilling owns a washing basin and Mrs. Wiesel a washboard, and their mothers have to coordinate to get their laundry done. Last week Joanna called Mary a 'fat pig' and intentionally dropped her favourite hair-tie in the inkwell at school. In two months, Mary Wiesel's father will move them into a newer flat two streets over. Joanna and Mary will never speak again.

8 8 8

"Get over 'ere, knuckle-head." Mrs. Kent beckons her grandson closer, and Peter accepts an armful of schoolbooks from his friend before Harry trots over for her inspection. She reties Harry's scarf, pulling it up higher to protect his neck, and dusts some soot from the back of his coat. Peter surreptitiously rubs the end of his boot against the back of his pants, trying to clean them up in case she turns her milky blue eyes to him.

"You are a terrible menace, Harry, my boy." Mrs. Kent reaches out a gnarled hand to gently cup her grandson's chin. Her eyes sparkle with pride, and Harry's face breaks into a grin. "I really don't know why I puts up with you."

She walks them down to the street, even though the stairs cause her pain, and kisses Harry on the forehead to send him off to school. When she turns to go inside she passes Peter and absently ruffles his hair. Peter leans into the touch.

8 8 8

"I found your other glove." LeBeau tosses it onto Newkirk's lap as he walks past. "You would lose your head if it wasn't screwed on tight."

It's not true. Newkirk never loses anything. Other people's belongings might disappear around him, but his own valuables are never _ever_ forgotten or misplaced. If Newkirk's gloves are missing, it's because LeBeau was baking again.

"You're not fooling anyone, LeBeau. If you've gone an' scorched the fingertips, I'm going to burn a cigarette 'ole right into the middle of your coat."

LeBeau pulls on his beret and tosses the end of his scarf over his shoulder. He arches an eyebrow in Newkirk's direction. "You wouldn't dare. How could you ever trust the integrity of your food again?"

Newkirk scowls. "I hate you!" he yells after LeBeau, but the Frenchman just closes the door on his curses.

Rolling his eyes, Newkirk turns back to his solitaire game. He lays the glove out on the table beside the cards, exploring the dark leather with one hand while he plays. There's no damage, and he hadn't expected any. Newkirk tucks the glove back into his pocket and smiles. LeBeau never asks when he borrows the Englishman's belongings. He knows about the strict line Newkirk keeps around his things, and loves to stomp all over it, just to show that he can. He doesn't take other people's things without asking for permission. Only Newkirk's.

If LeBeau did destroy his gloves, Newkirk is pretty sure he'd still forgive his small friend. And even if Newkirk burnt his entire coat in revenge, he knows LeBeau wouldn't turn away from him. It's nice to be reminded of that from time to time. It helps Newkirk sleep at night.

8 8 8

Carter approaches Newkirk with his shoulders hunched and a troubled look on his face. "That's sort of a horrible thing to say, Newkirk."

"What?"

Carter cringes, like he's either afraid of broaching the subject, or the very words are painful to him. " _I hate you._ I mean, you can't really say anything worse than that to someone, unless of course you were insulting them in some way, or maybe telling them some bad news, like telling them something awful has happened. But, I mean, boy… just saying right out that you _hate_ LeBeau? That's really horrible. Why would you do that?"

Blinking, Newkirk stares at the newcomer. He hadn't pegged the American as quite this brave. Or stupid. Could be either. "I don't – It's… He knows I don't mean it."

"Well, then why would you say it?"

It's a good question, and right now, with Carter's guileless blue eyes focussed on him, Newkirk doesn't have an answer.

"What else am I supposed to say?" He asks back, because really, it's not the first time someone has told him he's crossed some invisible line and gone too far, or that he needs to watch his language. But what are the words he's supposed to use? His sister has told him you can't just always _do_ , sometimes you have to _say_ things out loud as well.

Carter props his elbow on the table, and leans his chin on his fist. This is a clear concentration pose. "You could just tell him that you don't like it when he takes your things. Tell him why you're angry instead of insulting him."

"That's not what I was saying," Newkirk snaps, irritated with Carter's obliviousness.

"But you need to tell him _why_ you hate him." And Newkirk can hear the way Carter is tiptoeing around the word 'hate' like it's the worst curse he knows.

He gives up on the conversation because he's at a loss to explain his own actions. Carter makes it sound so simple, but it doesn't feel that way to Newkirk. It's confusing, and he's trying his best, but most of the time he's not even really sure what he's aiming for.

8 8 8

So Newkirk doesn't say 'I hate you' anymore. It's too much of a bother avoiding Carter's deer eyes. He has more creative insults in his vocabulary.

But he wonders; what gap was he trying to fill with those words?

When he pushes too far, and LeBeau's face goes red, and his eyes wet and glassy, what was it that he was supposed to say? Because he doesn't hate LeBeau. Newkirk knows what hate is, and he Does Not Hate LeBeau.

Newkirk doesn't even hate Carter anymore. He's gotten used to the young American, and enjoys teaching him card games and listening to his ridiculous babble. But so often Newkirk gets bored and goes looking for interaction (good, bad, anyone that will give him their attention), or he worries about his mates and pokes too hard at their weak spots, and then there's sad eyes and disappointed stares from the Colonel and Newkirk wonders once again.

It's obvious they don't understand what he's trying to communicate.

But what _is_ he trying to say?

8 8 8

 _Thank you._

 _I feel safe when I'm with you._

 _Please, don't leave me._

 _Your food tastes awful, but I feel warm when you make it for me, and I don't know why._

 _When I see you I feel glad._

 _I trust you._

 _I would do absolutely anything for you._


End file.
